


Remedial Lessons

by ChampagneSly



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Romance, little iceland
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:37:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6555586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChampagneSly/pseuds/ChampagneSly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the loss of their parents, Eirik takes a boring job in a faraway place to support his little brother, Aron, as they both try their best to overcome life's biggest obstacles: love and kindergarten. </p><p>(originally posted on tumblr in 2013-2014).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As a matter of general principle, Eirik Olsson tried not to actively dislike  small children.  Being a grown man with education and means, he believed it was more appropriate to reserve his irritation for ridiculous or obnoxious adults who ought to have known better rather than find the often petty behavior of children too bothersome. After all, young children were the last honest people in the world and had the unfortunate tendency of being endearingly innocent and cute, while adults were very rarely more than tolerable.

And it wasn’t as if he had a shortage of appropriately aged people to earn his ire in this too little town, filled with too many little minded people that still treated him with suspicion and disdain for reasons he didn’t want to waste an iota of his valuable time and attention considering. He didn’t particularly care if no one liked him, if people whispered as he pushed his cart up and down the grocery store aisles. It didn't even register when they glared as he rode his bike while wearing his workday suit. Eirik had far, far, far better things to do with his time and energy than be concerned with the thoughts and opinions of a handful of people who he wouldn’t remember in two years time when his contract was up and they could finally go home.

But when his perfect, inherently adorable and intelligent little brother came from school one night bearing a note from his P.E. coach, Eirik was finding it very difficult both not to dislike small children and not to care about the thoughts and opinions of the denizens of this awful new town they were supposed to call home. When Eirik read the letter and asked him it was true what Mr. Bendtner said-– _that the other children were picking on him in class_ \--Aron had just blinked at him and shrugged shoulders that were far too small yet to carry such burdens. Though he had wanted to press until Aron told him the names of all the little monsters who would dare to say an ill word to a child so precious, Eirik knew that when Aron had that glacially stubborn expression, his efforts would have been futile.

Even with only five years under his belt, Aron was already a quiet and contemplative child, thoughtful and mysterious (though given to strange piques of temper that baffled Eirik  and their parents). And much to Eirik’s current frustration, Aron only spoke when he thought it worth his while. So, Eirik left his little Aron to his devices, watched him drag around the stuffed puffin toy that Eirik had placed in the hospital bassinet. It had been a gift bestowed on the second day of Aron’s existence and the first day in Eirik's life that he knew what it was to love someone entirely.

He re-read the letter from this Jens Bendtner, felt his blood boil and his skin crawl at the very thought of anyone, young or old, doing anything that could make Aron sad. He had been through more than enough already. He re-read the note three times before it was Aron’s bedtime, just to stoke the rage that he kept simmering beneath the surface as he tucked the sheets around Aron and his favorite toy, brushed the hair from his forehead as he murmured softly,

“Tell me, Little One, are the other children not very nice to you?”

Aron yawned around his frown. “No one really talks to me.”

“Why not?” Eirik asked, trying to quell the sick sense of upset in his stomach.

“They say I sound funny and that I look too weird to be normal and that only a baby would have a stuffed animal,” Aron said , squeezing Mr. Puffin more tightly. “They call me Alien Aron." 

"You are too wonderful to be something as dull as normal. Never let anyone convince you otherwise,” Eirik informed him sternly. “Now, do you ever say anything unkind in return to these fools?”

Aron shook his head, pale hair sliding over his pillow as his eyes threatened to shut. “No, but sometimes Mr. Puffin bites them." 

"I see." Eirik smiled faintly and kissed Aron’s warm cheek goodnight. “Well, I am glad you have Mr. Puffin to take care of you.”

He turned off the lights and silently wished his little brother sweet dreams even as his own mind churned with plots and plans. Eirik checked his calendar and decided that a critical conference call would just have to be rescheduled because he fully intended to march into that school the next morning to thank the one other adult who appeared to take an interest in Aron’s well being and to discover the best methods of changing any and everything necessary to protect his brother. 

~~~

The elementary school was narrow, cramped, and smelled vaguely of what Eirik suspected was fifty years of cafeteria cooking, but the seas of children parted for him as he strode down the hallway with Aron clutching his index finger in one hand and Mr. Puffin in the other. He knocked sharply on the door marked “Bendtner/Oxenstierna,” and wondered why on earth a P.E. teacher needed an office. Aron peered up at him with bored eyes and dropped his hand to grasp Mr. Puffin by his fuzzy throat as the door flung open and Eirik was assaulted by very blue eyes and a ridiculously cheerful smile. 

“Hey! It's my man Aron!” The man enthused, holding out his palm for a high-five. To Eirik’s surprise, Aron’s lips curled into a tiny smile and his little hand struck the offered palm. The man straightened and offered a more adult handshake. “And you’re Aron’s big brother, right? Mr. Olsson? I’m Coach Bendtner, but you can call me Jens." 

"Yes, I’m Eirik Olsson.” Eirik took the man’s hand, dry and rough against his skin. He thought he remembered meeting him once before at the horror that had been Back to School Night, recalling the flock of women that had tittered and watched Jens’ every move, commenting less than subtly on his good looks and firm buttocks. Eirik had been annoyed by the gossip but supposed that with wild blond hair, blue eyes, and chiseled features, the man could objectively be considered handsome. Eirik narrowed his gaze as he remembered how the man had smiled at him and tried to follow him around the poster-board displays of student projects and ask him how he was liking his new town. Annoying.

But this Jens had watched after his Aron and Aron seemed to like him, if the expression of vague adoration on his little brother’s face was anything to go on, so Eirik decided to give the overly enthusiastic Coach Bendtner a free pass. He attempted to smile as he cleared his throat, “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me. And for alerting me to the situation with Aron’s…classmates.”

“Of course,” Jens said, smile dimming to a slightly less blinding wattage. “Why don’t you come in?”

Eirik nodded and ushered Aron inside the cluttered and crowded office that was more of a closet than anything else. Jens ran a hand through his hair and scrambled to move papers off of chairs and kick an errant ball under his desk.

“Sorry about the mess.”

“Its fine,” Eirik murmured carelessly, uninterested in the housekeeping habits of P.E. teachers when there were matters of Aron at stake.

“Hey, little man,” Jens said as he bent down to Aron’s level and handed him a piece of paper and couple of pen. “Why don’t you go draw your big bro a picture while we talk? You can use Mr. Oxenstierna’s desk.”

Aron took the assignment without protestation, gliding away quickly and quietly to the much tidier workspace. Eirik suspected that his face betrayed him because Jens was smiling at him softly when he stopped watching his little brother’s efforts and returned his cool gaze to Jens.

Eirik pursed his lips and smoothed his hands down his slacks. “Thank you again for your note. Aron is not given to readily sharing his thoughts, so it pains me to think how long this might have gone unaddressed had you not taken an interest.”

Jens shrugged, broad shoulders rolling under the cotton of his shirt with such force that the whistle around his neck bounced on his chest. “I figure its my job to look out for all the kids, but I always try to keep an eye on the ones who are new, or maybe a little bit smaller, a little quieter.” He nodded in Aron’s direction, “And Aron’s all of the above.” Jens smiled winningly and winked, “And don’t tell, but he’s definitely one of my favorites this year. I like a kid who fights back not with words but with stuffed puffins!”

“Mmm,” Eirik agreed. “I am glad he has at least one competent instructor that recognizes his many talents.” Eirik paused and lowered his voice, “But I do wonder why none of his other teachers have noticed any problems with the other students?”

Jens leaned against his cluttered desk with a heavy sigh. “I’m going to guess they’re either too busy trying to stick to lesson plans to catch every whisper and taunt. P.E. is the one time of the the day when the little rascals are free to shout and run and let loose all their crazy pent-up energy. Makes it easier to spot when one kid is being singled out, let alone to hear all the yells of _Aron is an alien_.”

Eirik scowled and cracked his knuckles. “I do not understand the cruelty of children.”

"I think they're too young to know that they're being cruel," Jens said, spreading his hands out in front of him as if to plead with Eirik for patience. "I think they're mostly given poor examples at home of how to deal with the different and the new. Fortunately, we've got a chance to undo some of that at school--teach them a better way, you know?" 

"I would teach them a very different lesson." 

“You’re obviously a very devoted guardian,” Jens said gently, jerking his head in the direction of Eirik's busy little artist. “And it is clear to me that Aron adores you. "

Eirik flushed and looked away, gaze tracing up the hunch of Aron’s back as the pen scritched and scratched over scrap paper. “I hope that he does,” Eirik murmured. “There is nothing more important to me than his well being and happiness.”

"Having that foundation will be important as we all work through this." Jens smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, startling Eirik with the unexpected touch. “And, hey, I promise to keep two eyes on him for you while he’s at school!”

Eirik stared, unsure of what to say in to this unasked for but much needed alliance. Aron spared him the awkwardness of prolonged silence by shoving between the narrowing space between their bodies and dropping his finished drawing in Jens’ lap.

Eirik arched an eyebrow and pulled Aron into a loose embrace. “I thought that was supposed to be for me.”

Aron looked at him blandly, jabbing him in the face with Mr. Puffin. “You have too many pictures on the fridge. Mr. Bendtner has none.”

Jens laughed and threw Aron an enthusiastically lame thumbs-up. “Thanks, little buddy! This is awesome! I’ll hang it up on the filing cabinet and keep it always!”

Eirik rolled his eyes when Jens met his gaze over Aron’s bent little head and mouthed, “What the heck is it supposed to be?”

“I’m sure a man of your professional capacity should be able to figure it out,” Eirik returned, smiling faintly. He slid Aron from his knees and looked at his watch, all too aware that he was running on borrowed time. He held out his hand to Jens, trying to ignore the firm grasp and just how long Jens held on . “Thank you, again for your help. Your insight has been invaluable.” He brushed his once more free fingers over Aron’s fine hair, “And it is also clear to me that Aron thinks highly of you. He doesn’t give his masterpieces to just anyone.”

“I’m honored,” Jens intoned with mock gravity before his voice turned more serious, “And I’m happy to help however I can–I want to see all my favorite little students have the best time they can while they are at my school.” 

“Thank you,” Eirik said, sparing Jens another tiny smile. 

“Well,” Jens said hopefully, rocking on his heels, “I hope that I’ll see you around, Eirik.”

"Oh, I'm certain you will," Eirik said, squaring off his shoulders and grasping Aron's hand. "I'm planning to become much more involved." 


	2. Chapter 2

After two hours of listening to nattering over whether or not cookies or brownies would sell better at the upcoming bake sale to fund new easels for the art room while also worrying over Aron, Eirik’s mood was as scorchingly awful as the weather outside the tiny elementary school gymnasium. Worse still, he suspected that the entire cookie versus brownies debate was in reality a power struggle between two parents subtly warring via baked goods for control of the Parent Teacher Association.

He had lost two hours of his precious free time that could have been spent with Aron to this idiocy. Idiocy that included a smattering of whispers when he walked into the room, followed by what he certainly hoped wasn’t flirting courtesy of some of the mothers and fathers who took an unnatural level of interest in his life. They asked the sort of questions he had as much desire in answering as he did in continuing the scintillating chocolate chip or peanut butter debate that ensued once cookies finally triumphed over brownies. Once the meeting finally came to its inglorious conclusion, Eirik shoved through the double doors into the burn of the September sun, humidity prickling his skin and his bad mood as he walked as quickly as possible on his mission to retrieve his one good reason for enduring such horrors  from Coach Jens’ hands.

He had not wanted to rely on a relative stranger to watch Aron while he attended these godforsaken "opportunities for involvement," but the thought of leaving his brother in the day care with the same children who called him an alien and mocked his Mr. Puffin was anathema. Unfortunately, between work, Aron-obligations, and his own general dislike of most people, Eirik had yet to make a single acquaintance in the two months since their relocation. And so when Jens had sent another note home with Aron offering to let the littlest Olsson safely stay in his office during PTA meetings, he had no other choice but to accept the offer with as much cool gratitude as he could muster. Eirik supposed that if he had to accept help with Aron from anyone, it was best that it was the one teacher that had taken the time and interest to look out for Aron from the time the school bell rang until Eirik had Aron settled on the back of his bike and they were headed safely home.

And, for reasons Eirik wasn’t quite sure he could understand, Aron seemed vaguely enamored of the P.E. coach with the wild blond hair who smiled too much and spoke too loudly.

That same too bright smile greeted him with an enthusiastic, “ _Hey! Mr. Olsson!_ ” when he stepped into the respite Jens’ still cluttered office on that September afternoon. He noticed that a second Aron Olsson original now decorated the gray metal of the filing cabinet. Aron looked up from his artistic endeavors and favored him with a bored look that was as familiar to Eirik as his own reflection before promptly resuming his artwork, shamelessly ignoring the older brother who had just run across the blacktop playground to find him.

“Hello, Little One,” Eirik called out to the hunched figure that resolutely did not turn around, obviously far too busy and important to be bothered with lowly older brothers. “It is so nice to be wanted,” Eirik said to Jens, who continued to smile at him with a warmth that Eirik didn’t understand.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Jens laughed, shoulders rolling beneath a shirt that Eirik thought might have been just a little too nice for an early Tuesday evening spent watching a six year old boy and his stuffed puffin. “We talked about you the entire time.”

Eirik was certain that his scoff of disbelief did not warrant Jens’ answering wink.

“No, I’m serious! Aron’s quite the chatterbox when you get him on his favorite subject.”

“I am not,” Aron grumbled from corner, “It is not nice to tell stories, Coach Jens. Mr. Puffin says so.”

Eirik snorted and thought it was far more likely that Coach Jens was the chatterbox, though he hoped that _he_ was not once of Jens’ favorite subjects, preferring not to be an object of gossiping interest for at least one person in this horrid place.

“I also say its not nice to tell stories.”

“Hmm,” Jens said, stroking his chin in false contemplation, “If Mr. Puffin and Mr. Olsson say it isn’t nice, I guess I had better learn my lesson so we can all still be friends.”

“As a teacher, I should hardly expect that I need to be the one to instruct you on the importance of telling the truth, Coach Jens,” Eirik murmured, though his lips curved upwards at the sight of Aron making Mr. Puffin nod severely from his perch on a messy desk. Eirik sighed, feeling some of his PTA-induced frustration bleed away. “But, please, call me Eirik.” He sank into the empty chair that he had occupied only a week earlier and peered up at Jens’ easy smile. “Thank you again for taking time out of your evening to watch Aron.” “

No worries!” Jens said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “This guy is a breeze and, hey, I got some more sweet art out of the deal.”

Eirik frowned, almost entirely joking as he muttered, “So I noticed. I am beginning to wonder if my brother is turning traitor. I think perhaps I am no longer his favorite.”

Jens laughed while Aron’s pencil scratched over and over the paper, filling the tiny office with happy sounds that were an unexpected balm to the chafe of two hours of PTA nonsense. 

“You’re OK, Brother,” Aron suddenly piped up, little voice soft and shrill, “But Mr. Puffin is my favorite.”

“Did you hear that Coach Jens?” Eirik asked, moping playfully. “Do you see how badly I am treated? Beaten out by a stuffed animal.”

Jens shook his head and gave Aron a less than subtle thumbs up.“That is pretty tragic.”

Eirik could see Aron watching them, peeking from beneath the fringe of his almost white blond hair with eyes that had always reminded Eirik of their mother.

“It is indeed,” Eirik murmured loudly enough for Aron to overhear, “And after such a horrible meeting, how am I expected to recover? No, I fear that I may be done for.”

Jens hummed and steepled his fingers, elbows resting on his knees and making his arms tighten in such a way that Eirik couldn’t help but notice the muscles that the annoying woman from the meeting had waxed on about so luridly. “Well, there might be one thing that could save you."

Eirik looked away. "And what would that be?”

Jens clapped his hands and answered far too cheerfully, “Ice cream, of course!” Startled, Eirik looked up just as Aron’s pencil clattered to the table and two little feet hit the floor. Jens smiled widely at him, just a hint of invitation in his unsettlingly kind gaze. “We should all go get some! My treat!”

“Yes,” Aron declared resolutely, stubborn frown already spreading across his face as he bounded over to an older brother who did not quite know what to say to such an outing, but who thought that the most appropriate answer was probably no. But before his lips could shape around the two letters, Aron’s cold fingers were tugging at Eirik’s hand to urge him to stand up. “Mr. Pufiin wants ice cream, too.”

Bewildered, but unable to deny Aron anything when he looked at him like that, worried and expectant, clinging and close, Eirik shrugged and muttered, “Alright, but it must be my treat.” He flushed and stared at Aron’s impatient expression rather than Jens’ smile of happy surprise. “As payment for watching this greedy Little One.”

“Sounds good to me!” Jens agreed without hesitation, bending down to try and coax a high-five out a skeptical Aron. Eirik smirked at Jens’ failure, a little reassured that Aron had not completely fallen under Jens’ sunny spell. Jens grinned and waggled his eyebrows as he stood from his failed-five, “We can get a scoop and then you can give me the scoop on the PTA.”

“Further relive that waste of time and energy? If you insist.”

“I do! So let’s get out of here and get to the good stuff!”

Aron tugged on his wrist and Jens threw an exuberant and too warm arm around his shoulders, trapping him between two very different expressions of happiness. Eirik gave in and let himself be swept out to an ice cream sea on insistent tides.

~~ 

"Damn, that does sound terrible!”

Eirik shot Jens a glare, tempted to reprimand him for his language in front of impressionable young minds until he realized that impressionable young minds had fallen asleep, splayed next to him in the grass beneath the shade of a very large tree, pale little face covered in licorice flavored ice cream. Eirik chanced an affectionate smile  and brushed Aron’s hair from his sweaty forehead, unable to blame his brother for having given up on the dull back and forth of adult chatter and chosing to drift into sweet dreams with one sticky hand on Eirik’s leg and the other clutching the very demanding Mr. Puffin.

“You have no idea,” Eirik muttered, exhausted but somehow content.

“I am pretty sure I do. If you’ll recall, I _am_ a teacher and large part of my job is putting up with parents,” Jens said, licking the corner of his mouth in a gesture that was uncouth and distracting. Eirik wished he weren’t still dressed from work, too warm in this late summer weather in button shirt and long pants, the chill of his chocolate ice cream long since gone.

“I suppose that’s true,” Eirik allowed. “But you cannot know what it’s like to feel as though both you and your child are under the microscope.” He softened and looked down at Aron’s blissfully unaware face, thin lips parted around lazy breahths. “I don’t see why Aron should have to bear any of this.”

Jens shifted closer, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun with the broadness of his shoulders as he murmured kindly, “It's a bitch of a world." Jens patted Eirik's knee, just below the spread of Aron’s short fingers. "But you’re doing what you can! Fighting the good fight, getting involved, building inroads for you and your kid."

Eirik closed his eyes and titled his head back, feeling far too tired for twenty-four years old. "I think it will take a terribly long time to make any sort of difference."

Six months worth of bi-weekly meetings about cookies and parental politics stretched horrifyingly before him. Eirik opened his eyes and blinked at the concern and strange sweetness of Jens’ expression, the raptness of his attention as though somehow all of this mattered to him.

“You can do it,” Jens encouraged with a smile so winning, Eirik wondered if he could borrow it by the hour to charm those who wanted to know so much about his personal life.

“I am certain that I can,” Eirik murmured, running his fingers over Aron’s hand that clenched and unclenched in the throes of sleep. “If only I knew how to avoid the impertinent questions about my…”

“Dating life?” Jens supplied helpfully, chuckling when Eirik gazed at him with surprise. “Trust me, I get it non-stop. The easiest thing to do is tell them you’re seeing someone.”

“But I’m not,” Eirik protested. “And then they will only want to know more about this *someone* and further judge Aron and me alike based on whoever it is I make up.” Eirik let out a great heaving breath, “It hardly matters. My first priority is finding a babysitter for the Little One every other Tuesday evening for God only knows how many months of PTA torture.”

“I’ll do it!”  

Jens offered himself so readily, so easily and without so much as a second thought that Eirik flinched backwards and jostled Aron into sleepy-eyed waking. Aron gave him a look so deadly Eirik worried that he would never survive the onset of Aron's teenaged years. 

“What do you mean you’ll do it?” Eirik asked, frowning in confusion as he stroked Aron’s hair and tried to urge to him more fully awake so they could get out of the park and finally go home. “You can hardly want to spend your free time babysitting the same children you see day in and day out.”

“I mean that I’m available if you need me,” Jens said simply, smiling  as he helped Aron scramble to his knees. Eirik watched Aron return to Jens a ghost of a smile, fleeting and tinged with sleep, but real and wonderful to behold. “What do you say, Little Man,” Jens asked, “Should this be our thing? You and me and big bro and ice cream every other Tuesday?”

Eirik frowned harder, unimpressed with Jens’ tactic.

“Honestly,” he bit back the urge to call Jens an idiot, “You must have better things to do with yourself.”

“Maybe I think spending time with you and Aron is a better thing to do,” Jens said plainly, plucking at strands of grass while Eirik blamed his blush on the heat and the queasiness in his stomach on too much dairy and sugar. “Maybe I want to see you.”

“I cannot imagine why,” Eirik muttered, gathering their abandoned napkins and trying to make ready his escape. He wasn’t sure what to make of this strange man who smiled at him and listened to his complaints and took such care of his most precious charge.

Aron touched his still sticky hand to Eirik’s face, commanding his attention as he said quietly, “I want to have ice cream again.” Aron stared at him longingly and Jens kept up his smiling assault until Eirik could stand it no longer.

He knew that the wise thing to do would be to turn Jens down, to find some nice babysitter that was older and harmless and didn’t come with a body that bored housewives admired so fervently. And yet, Eirik knew he was going to cave to Aron’s wide-eyed gaze of hopefulness, his feelings on the matter punctuated by Mr. Puffin’s soft beak tapping insistently at his temple.

“And so you shall,” Eirik gave in, shaking his head as he thought of just how many worms might be in the can he had just opened in committing to more of this, more evenings spent in idle conversation with Jens, while Aron got silly on sugar and told ridiculous stories of trolls and fairies.

Aron clapped twice and smiled smugly.

Jens clapped three times, winked and leaned in closer to murmur, “Hey, now that I’m going to be seeing you so often, it wouldn’t really be a lie if you told all the old busybodies that you were seeing someone.”

Eirik closed his eyes, shook his head and thought that this whole endeavor was more trouble than it was worth. 


	3. Chapter 3

As it happened, the day that Aron was asked over for his very first play-date would be a day of many firsts for the Brothers Olsson, but Eirik had no idea what was in store when he answered his phone and was promptly invited to bring his little brother over to 115 Edelweiss Avenue to spend the afternoon in the company of one Feliciano Edelstein. The voice on the other end of the line was pretty but sharp, booking no refusals as Eirik hemmed and hawed, too caught off guard by the strange pang of happiness he felt when he thought of Aron finally finding a friend  to do anything more than accept Mrs. Elizaveta Edelstein’s offer to join her for a glass of wine while the boys played. Eirik had blinked at the sudden dial tone that followed his acquiescence, speechless as he wandered off in search of Aron to tell him that they had a date. 

And so, at 2pm on that Saturday of firsts, Eirik strapped Aron into his little bike seat and tucked Mr. Puffin into his satchel, bending down to ask Aron if he was excited to go see his little friend Feliciano. 

“Feli,” Aron intoned gravely, “No one calls him the other name. Feli says that name is too big to fit in his mouth." 

Eirik nodded in agreement, wondering how a boy with such a last name like Edelstein came to have such an grandiose first name while he forced the helmet on Aron’s bobbing head.

"I see. Feli it is, then.” He patted the top of the helmet that Aron so hated, sliding on his own without delay so his brother had no opportunity to call unfairness. He fiddled with the chinstrap and wished that bike helmets were anything other than awkward as he questioned, “Why didn’t you tell me you had made a friend at school?”

Aron blinked at him, shrugging shamelessly. “I told Mr. Puffin to tell you." 

"Of course you did.” Eirik rolled his eyes to the heavens and made a note to check the parenting blogs for exactly how long it was healthy to allow a child to indulge in such a level of fantasy. For a brief moment he considered asking Jens for his opinion as an educator the next time they met after PTA, before shaking the notion away as too great an intimacy when Jens was already becoming dangerously intertwined in their lives.

“Next time, you should tell me yourself,” Eirik called over his shoulder as he pushed the bike from the curb and started pedaling. “These are the sorts of things Brother would like to know very much." 

Aron held his tongue, falling into the silence they both liked too much as they rode down the hill from their apartment towards the tree lined streets of downtown in search of Edelweiss Avenue, home of the Edelsteins. In the quiet, while Aron doubtless daydreamed of the trolls he believed had lived in the forest behind their old house in a land too far away to be anything but memory, Eirik thought owhat happened in those every-other week PTA after hours. His thoughts circled anxiously around the strange queasiness in his stomach as he recalled the sweetness of the smiles Jens coaxed from his reticent little brother and how relieved he felt to have someone, anyone that wanted to listen to his thousand worries and complaints.

He had no idea why Jens wished to waste his time eating ice cream and wandering the streets of their tiny, godforsaken town with him while Aron told tall talesabout the meanest troll being tossed into a volcano by a brave puffin. More than this, he had no idea what to do with the anticipation that lingered beneath the annoyance and dread he felt every other PTA-Tuesday, knowing that such distractions couldn’t be helpful, that wishing to rush from the meeting so he could see the latest of Aron’s art tacked to Jens’ cabinet and mock him mercilessly for his pathetic attempts to guess at the subject would never end well for anyone involved. 

"Brother, stop!” Aron commanded, thumping his fists on Eirik’s hunched back and shaking him from his latest  Jens reverie. “We’re here,” Aron informed him with a regal point of his stubby finger towards a manicured lawn and a mailbox cheerily painted with flowers and the name  _Edelstein_.

Eirik wondered how far he had sunk to be less attentive than a five year old, pinching the bridge of his nose as he put his bike to curb and tried to regain his senses. Something had to be done before he drove them both off a cliff of daydreams. 

~~

“So,” Elizaveta Edelstein said as she popped the cork back into bottle of wine and slid a glass across the granite counter top to Eirik’s reluctant fingers. “What’s your story, Mr. Eirik Olsson, guardian of my Feli’s new best friend?" 

Eirik blinked in surprise at the brashness, which he had done at least six times since he had set foot in the foyer of the Edelstein’s house and summarily had his waist embraced by two chubby arms while a pretty, well-heeled woman kissed his cheek and ruffled Aron’s hair. He cleared his throat and cast his gaze towards the living room, where Aron and Mr. Puffin seemed to be telling a story for the their rapt audience of one. 

"Surely you’ve heard the rumors,” Eirik deflected, attempting to swirl his wine in the glass and appear as though such bold intrusions didn’t faze him in the least.

Elizaveta smiled, slow and knowing. “Of course I have, sweetie. And while gossip is just dandy, I know all too well that the truth, particularly the truth kept by a reserved man with handsome face, is almost always far more compelling.” Her smiled softened as the sound of little boy laughter carried into the kitchen. “Besides, it isn’t easy for my Feli to make many friends. The other kids take advantage of his sweetness and sensitivity, but your Aron seems to know just how to make him laugh. I want to do whatever I can to keep you both coming around." 

And yet again, Eirik blinked and stared, unsure of what to do with such honesty. He took in the woman before him, somehow assuaged by the confidence and assurance that reminded him a little of Jens, minus the guileless grinning and ridiculous high fives. With a sigh, Eirik pushed the wine away and tried to keep his tone flat and quiet as he told what story he had to tell.

"Aron was born when I was eighteen. He was quite the surprise to our parents,” Eirik said softly, remembering the way his mind had broken when his mother had told his then seventeen year old self that he was to be an elder brother. “But he arrived, healthy, whole, and though I didn’t seem him often while I was away at university, I loved him dearly." 

"That much is obvious still,” Elizaveta murmured, painted nails curling over the clench of Eirik’s fist as Feli’s bubbly giggling reached their ears. 

“My mother passed away from illness when Aron was two,” Eirik said, looking away to avoid the pity he knew would be in her eyes, preferring to watch Aron smother Feliciano’s smile with Mr. Puffin’s demanding beak. “And we lost our father last year in an accident.” He risked a peek at Elizaveta’s expression– bitterly pleased to find it grave, solemn, and devoid of anything but measured kindness and respect. The clarity of her gaze pushed him forward. “I was named Aron’s guardian. When my work offered me the contract to work for their branch in this town and make nearly twice my salary, I felt I had no other choice but to accept to best prepare for Aron’s future." 

"You’re a wonderful man and a great brother. And I’m very sorry for your losses. I can’t begin to imagine.” Eliza offered, squeezing his hand once before dropping her hold and retrieving her wine. “But I admire a person who tackles every obstacle head on. You’ve got a damned good head on your shoulders.” Elizaveta laughed lightly and winked, breaking the solemnity of the mood, “And a good looking one at that." 

Eirik smiled faintly, grateful both for the plain spoken sympathy and for the obvious out being given, taking it without hesitation. He shook his supposedly good looking head in mock disgust, muttering disdainfully, "I hear quite enough of that nonsense at the PTA.”

“I’m certain that you do,” Elizaveta chortled, tossing her hair over her shoulders.“God, that takes me back to my days of the Parent Torture Association.” She grinned at Eirik’s obvious curiosity, leaning conspiratorially across the counter. “I used to suffer through those endless wranglings before I was promoted to partner, when my elder boy was still causing a ruckus with that wicked temper of his. I wanted to get in good with the other parents so they’d stop bitching every time Lovi scrawled naughty words on the chalk board or taught their precious little angel how to say fuck in three different languages.”

Eirik’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, a huff of laughter escaping as he tried to imagine Aron instructing his horrid classmates in the proper Icelandic pronunciation of four letter words.

Elizaveta chuckled and rolled her eyes fondly. “German, Hungarian, and Italian. My multilingual and talented little troublemaker.” She waved a hand and smiled at the tacking sound of four feet approaching the kitchen. “Anyhow, I thought it would be easier to just get all my apologies out at once while charming the stick in the muds into leaving my kid the hell alone.” She put her hands on her hips and turned away from Eirik’s bemused curiosity to the pleading eyes of her youngest boy and Eirik’s suddenly sweet-as-pie brother. “What’s up, rugrats? Do you want something to drink?”

“Juice, please, mama!” Feli said brightly, “One for me, one for Aron, and one for Mr. Puffin!" 

Eirik put his head in his hands and tried to think of how to apologize for Aron creating yet another Mr. Puffin devotee, only to be startled out of his worry but Elizaveta’s cheerful laughter and a chorus of thank you’s as two cups of juice and cup of air were passed over to grateful and greedy little hands. 

"Thank you,” Aron said as he bowed Mr. Puffin’s fuzzy little beak and scampered off in hot pursuit of Feliciano, ordering him to make a throne for the stuffed animal that ruled them all. Eirik rolled his eyes and thought that it was fitting that Aron had found a kindhearted child to play so nicely to his quietly bossy temper.

“Damned cute,” she sighed wistfully, “Everyone must just want to eat you both up." 

Eirik frowned and ran his finger over the rim of his barely touched wine. "Hardly. I’m afraid that Feli is the first to have taken to Aron.” He met Elizaveta’s gaze of surprise and shrugged. “It seems neither the parents nor the children know what to make of us.” Eirik smirked dryly, “So, I, too, have joined the PTA of bringing my Aron into the fold. Unfortunately, my efforts have yet to be entirely successful." 

"Even after they know your story?” Elizaveta asked skeptically. “I find it hard to believe even that pack of jackals wouldn’t melt like butter in the sun when they knew what a sweetheart you are to take on so much at so young an age." 

Eirik bristled, feeling the old fear and revulsion bubble in his throat. "I’m not interested in their curiosity nor their pity. I won’t have them treat Aron as some charity case." 

Elizaveta shook her head and made a sympathetic sound. “Listen, I know this town and I know these people and I think I can help you navigate waters that seem threatening, but really aren’t much more than a tempest in a teacup." 

"Help me?” Eirik asked warily, for all that he liked her brash and plain talk. “How so?" 

"In so many ways, Mr. Olsson.” Elizaveta laughed and took a sip of her wine, leaning against the counter as she shifted her gaze to the scene of Aron reigning on high in the living room, instructing Feliciano in god only knew what. “But let’s start with this. How about you leave little Aron with me and Feli while you suffer through the PTA prattle, and when you’re done, you come on over and I’ll give you the inside story on how to use what just happened to your best advantage.”

Even though his stomach twisted at the ridiculous notion of no longer enduring Jens’ cheerful concern and too happy smiles, Eirik knew that he needed to say to Elizaveta’s offer. He looked at Aron and looked at Feliciano, and knew that it was best that Aron spend time at play instead of sitting in a cluttered office waiting for his brother to emerge cross and impatient from the doldrums of the PTA. He didn’t quite know what to make of Elizaveta’s ready willingness to help him scheme and he wondered at the strange feeling that he would never admit was disappointment, but despite his reservations he nodded once and murmured his assent. 

“Wonderful, I think we’re all going to get along famously.” Elizaveta said merrily. She turned to Eirik and rolled her eyes with fond exasperation, “Oh, don’t look so serious, Eirik. You’d be surprised how far people will for a smile like yours.” He turned away from her suddenly sly smirk, “Unless, of course, you’ve already charmed some poor sap with that pretty face and those mysterious eyes." 

Flushing beneath his collar, Eirik frowned to be contrary and tried to ignore an attractive woman’s knowing giggle as he thought for the thousandth time that this whole thing  really was more trouble than it was worth.

~~

"And how did we enjoy our first play date?” Eirik asked wearily as Elizaveta and Feli bid them an enthusiastic farewell. 

“I thought it was very fun,” Aron told him. “But Mr. Puffin thought there needed to be more snacks. He’d like some pizza for dinner." 

Eirik sighed and snatched the troublesome stuffed bird to place in his satchel. "Mr. Puffin is a greedy thing that needs to mind his manners.” He bent down Aron’s level, “Especially as you will both be spending Brother’s Tuesday night meetings at Mrs. Edelstein’s house from now on." 

Aron’s face lit up with a smile that never failed to squeeze the bitterness from his heart. Aron pressed against his chest, hugging him ever so briefly until a shrill ring from the phone in his pocket had Aron shuffling away with a look of bored curiosity. 

His earlier queasiness returned at the name on the caller ID. Puzzled by what circumstance would warrant this first non-weekday call, Eirik answered the phone as he pointed sternly at Aron’s small helmet, always attempting to multitask like every busy parent.

"Yes? Hello?”

“Um, hey, Eirik!” Jens voice rang through the receiver, somehow still reminding Eirik of sunshine. “I was wondering what you and the Little Man were up to tonight." 

In what was becoming an alarming behavioral pattern, Eirik blinked and stared, stammering foolishly, "It’s not Tuesday.”

“Well spotted!” Jens teased, snapping Eirik from his momentary stupidity. “But surely even you eat dinner on nights other than Tuesday,” Jens continued, clearing his throat, “So I was hoping that you and my little buddy might want to join me for some pizza. My treat." 

Eirik considered, peering at Aron’s tired and happy expression as he thought of his own exhaustion after a long week and an…interesting…afternoon. He suspected it would be safest to turn Jens away, to go home and throw together a meal for two, instead of welcoming another dinner for three. But soon there wouldn’t be a need for such things and Eirik wanted one last chance to thank Jens for all that he had done and explain how circumstances had changed.

And so, for the first time, Eirik murmured yes to Jens’ request and invited him into their home, provided he came laden with pizza. 

"Really?” Jens exclaimed, the happiness in his voice doing unfortunate things to Eirik’s already knotted stomach. “Awesome! Give me your address and the Boss Man’s order and I’ll be there in no time." 

Aron tapped his foot impatiently and tried to grab the blasted puffin from his bag while Eirik gave out their address to the first person in town who was neither the cable repairman nor the Chinese delivery service. Eirik tucked the phone against his shoulder and picked up his imperious little brother, unceremoniously dumping him in the bike seat as he finished listing off the toppings that both Olssons would deign to eat. 

"So, that’s one call for pepperoni and one for sardines.... Are you sure about the sardines?" 

"Why wouldn’t I be?” Eirik sniffed, reluctantly putting on his helmet though he knew it was going to flatten and muss his hair. 

“If you say so." 

"I do,” Eirik grumbled, wishing his heart would slow down before he had to pedal the entire way home. 

“In that case, its a date!” Jens declared so simply Eirik nearly dropped the phone and tipped the still kickstand-ed bike. “The pizza and I will see you both soon!" 

For the second time that day, Eirik listened to a sudden dial tone and didn’t know quite what to say. Instead, he sighed and started to wheel the bike down the street, wondering why it felt like such a shame that this first date (that was not at all a real date since he’d never actually been asked and he didn’t think he really wanted to go on dates with someone who smiled as much as Jens) was almost certainly also the last. 


	4. Chapter 4

Though Jens was true to his word and arrived only forty-five minutes later with pizza in hand and a smile on his face, the three-quarters of an hour had been enough time for the mood of a tired and hungry little boy (and his puffin) to turn sour. Eirik almost sighed with relief when the doorbell rang, too eager to get some food in Aron’s cranky mouth to be particularly putout by Jens’ obvious curiosity as he stepped over the threshold and cast his gaze around the nearly barren walls and furniture that was functional at best and ugly at worst. He snatched the pizza boxes with less gratitude than Eirik supposed was warranted, but Aron’s expression was quaking towards temper tantrum.

“I, uh, love what you haven’t done with the place,” Jens said as he came through the door, dogging Eirik’s steps into the efficiency kitchen.

Eirik shot him a hurried but withering glare. “Well, forgive me for not making time in my busy schedule of full time employment and parenting for interior decorating.” He grabbed plates from the cupboards without a second glance in Jens' direction, feeling the warmth of him hovering far too close to Eirik's shoulder. “I don’t see much point in making the effort for a situation that is only temporary.”

“Woah, I meant no offense,” Jens soothed, taking the plates from his hands. The worried and wistful curve of his smile made Eirik feel irrationally guilty. Jens’ smile further dimmed at the impressively loud ruckus that two little feet could make while stomping on carpet. “Is everything alright? Did I come at a bad time?”

Eirik sighed and shook his head. “Everything will be just fine as soon as Lord Aron has had some dinner.” He slid a slice of sardine and a slice of pepperoni on the Moomin decorated plate that Aron’s godfather had given him for this third birthday. “He had his first play date today, so the Little One is more than a little tired.”

“Ahh, yes. A sleepy kid is a cranky kid. I know this phenomenon all too well.”” Jens said knowingly, whisking the plate out of Eirik’s hands as he sauntered towards the living room. 

“And a hungry child to boot,” Eirik nodded wearily, pouring a cup of milk and reaching into the fridge for two beers, hoping that Jens wouldn’t be overly offended by his meager selection.. “Makes for a less than hospitable welcome.”

Jens chuckled, seemingly unfazed by the threat of Hurricane Aron.  “Yeah, whenever that mood strikes my minions I usually try and come up with some crazy competition like who can blow the biggest spit bubble to keep ‘em distracted until lunch time.”

“That’s disgusting,” Eirik muttered, kicking the fridge door shut and gesturing with beer laden hands towards the storm brewing in the living room.

“And yet effective,” Jens said brightly, balancing the Moomin plate and pizza boxes on his broad forearms.“But don’t worry, Big Brother, I’ll use nothing more than the force of my awesome to charm the Little Man out of his foul mood!”

“You are more than welcome to try,” Eirik scoffed. “Better men have tried and failed to talk his lordship down from a tempest.”

But to his mutual chagrin and relief, when Jens traipsed in with his offerings of food and good humor, Aron’s angry brow unfurrowed just enough for the adorable child to break through his glacial displeasure.

“Hey!” Jens enthused, sliding the plate onto the coffee table and running his fingers through Aron’s pale, fine hair. “I heard that a certain someone had a big day today!”

Aron sniffed and shuffled towards the pizza, mumbling, “Yes, Mr. Puffin and I were very busy.” Eirik stifled the urge to strangle Mr. Puffin, instead grabbing Aron’s dirty hands with a wet paper towel before allowing him to shove the pizza into his momentarily manner-less mouth. “We told Feli about hunting trolls." 

"Oh, you and Feli had yourselves a little strategy session, huh?” Jens winked at Eirik and settled on the couch, accepting his beer without complaint and reaching for pepperoni, nose wrinkling when Eirik smirked and waved his sardine in front of his face. “I’m glad to hear you found someone to help you and Mr. P out with those pesky trolls.”

Aron shrugged and started to answer, only to glare at Eirik and swallow viciously when reminded that Olssons did not speak with their mouths full.

“I didn’t know you were such an expert on the troll epidemic, Jens,” Eirik asked with false sweetness, rolling his eyes at the speed with which Aron was attempting to eat so he could rejoin one of his favorite conversations. “There’s no need for that, Little One. The pizza isn’t going anywhere.”

Jens laughed, the sound of it warm and full in their empty living room. “Of course I know all about the troll scourge. The Little Man keeps me well informed.” Jens leaned forward to whisper loudly to Aron, “Don’t you, buddy?”

“I do,” Aron answered solemnly.

“Well, then,” Jens said with equal gravity, “You had better tell me everything that happened today so I don’t get caught off guard by a surprise attack.”

Eirik smiled faintly as Aron’s mood began to lift with each bite of pizza and all of Jens’ ridiculous encouragement of Aron’s story of how he and the Edelstein boy defeated the trolls that apparently dwelt beneath Elizaveta and Roderich’s very nice entertainment center. He ate his dinner and drank his beer and listened to Aron’s lilting little voice grow animated under the care of Jens’ entirely unfeigned interest in his tales of valor.

At length, the leftover pizza turned cold and the beer ran dry, Aron’s nattering dwindled into more yawns than words as the sky darkened and the hour became late. Eirik was reluctant to move from the clutch of the couch cushions, tired and content with a stomach full of grease and cheese, wanting nothing more than another beer and see Aron always look so damned pleased with himself as his big eyes drooped and his small smile turned soft and sleepy.

“Little One,” Eirik nearly cooed, “It is time for bed.” Aron blinked at him docilely, apparently turned sweet by the indulgence of junk food and Jens. “Go brush your teeth and put on you pajamas, and I shall come tuck you in.”

“And Jens, too?” Aron asked softly, yawning around the name, completely oblivious to his brother’s shock at such a request.

“Well, I suppose so,” Eirik murmured reluctantly, pulse fluttering in his throat, “If Coach Jens doesn’t mind.”

“Of course I will, Little Man,” Jens said happily, nudging Eirik’s shoulder, suddenly far too close as Aron stumbled out of the room on tired feet leaving him alone on a couch with Jens pressed against his side.

“I’m sorry about that,” Eirik said quickly, scrambling away to fuss with dirty dishes and empty bottles, “Please don’t feel obligated.”

Jens grabbed his wrist, “Why the hell would you be sorry?” Eirik pulled free from his grasp, refusing to meet Jens’ puzzled expression. “Hey,” Jens tried again, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.”

“As you keep saying,” Eirik sighed and dropped the subject, entirely certain that for all his uncertainty regarding Jens’ desire to spend his free time eating bad pizza and listening to the wild imaginings of a kindergartner, he didn’t really want to know the reasons why Jens did what he did. He dumped the dishes in the sink and deliberately didn’t look when the object of his consternation walked into the room. “So, you never mentioned that Aron had found a new friend.”

“I didn’t get a chance,” Jens said simply,“I think Feli only worked up the courage to talk to Aron three days ago.”

“And here Mrs. Edelstein had me convinced they were the best of friends,” Eirik laughed dryly, turning away from the cluttered sink to make his way towards bedtime duties.

“Why wouldn’t they be?” Jens asked as he trailed in the wake of Eirik’s clipped footsteps intended to keep at a safe distance from the hands that seemed suspiciously inclined to reach for him. “Things move much faster when you’re so young.”

“Funny,” Eirik murmured under his breath, “I always believed time passed more quickly the older one became." 

"Sure,” Jens agreed readily, hands in his pockets as he peered into Aron’s small and tidy bedroom, watching Eirik pull back the covers in anticipation of a tired little boy. “But most of the time all we do is get older. Adults wouldn’t think to trust someone who did nothing more than offer to share a toy or play a game.” Jens’ face was thoughtful, his words gentle as Aron squeezed around the slouch of his body and made his way towards Eirik’s waiting arms. Jens smiled, “Thankfully, kids don’t know any better than to live in the moment and seize the day." 

"Perhaps,” Eirik answered quietly, amused by Aron’s sleepy frown of confusion, “But for now, it is time to seize the night.” He tucked the covers around Aron’s shoulders and brushed the hair from his forehead, playfully wrinkling his nose when Aron yawned loudly into face. He felt his cheeks heat as he bent to kiss Aron’s brow and whisper his bedtime wishes in the language their mother had once spoke, awkward and unsure as he performed this routine sweetness with an audience for the first time. “Goodnight and good dreams, Aron." 

"Sleep well, Little Man,” Jens called out softly from the doorway before turning and fading into the dimness of the hallway, kindly leaving Eirik to pat the sheets and slide Mr. Puffin beneath the expectant clutch of Aron’s arm. 

“I have no doubt you will sleep very well,” Eirik said as he stood from the bed and watched Aron’s eyes flutter shut, mouth already beginning to part around the steady breaths of sleep. “My busy little bee." 

He lingered in Aron’s room for a moment, listening to the sounds of Aron’s breathing and Jens’ shuffling, uncertain he was prepared to be alone in a room with Jens and his effortless and irritating consideration. But he was even less prepared to leave Jens so long that the impulsive fool went on a rescue mission to discover Eirik hiding out in his littler brother’s bedroom. 

"All good?” Jens asked quietly when Eirik trailed into the living room. 

“Yes,” Eirik said, gingerly circling the couch to sit as far as possible from the lax splay of Jens’ legs, “Its been a very good day for Aron.” He sighed and rested his head on the pillows, “I am glad he has found a playmate." 

"Not that I would ever play favorites, but Feli’s one of the good ones,” Jens offered, turning his smile towards Eirik’s tired gaze, “And his folks are great, too. Especially Lizzie. She knows how to take her kids seriously without taking them too seriously, if you know what I mean." 

Eirik worried his lip between his teeth, reminded that there was one outstanding item on his Saturday to-do list. "She’s certainly got a personality,” he said slowly, gaze drifting to the curve of Jens’ smile and the cut of his jaw. “Mrs. Edelstein has offered to watch Aron on PTA nights,” Eirik cleared his throat and looked away, “So you’ll have your Tuesdays returned to you." 

"Oh,” Jens started softly, characteristic exuberance gone in the seconds before he shook his head and clapped his hands over his knees, “Well, that’s great for Aron. Better to hang out with his friends than an old man like me." 

"Thank you for everything you’ve done,’ Eirik murmured gratefully.

"I keep telling you there’s no need to thank me,” Jens shrugged his too broad shoulders, the safety in the inches he’d placed between them diminishing with each shift of legs and arms. “But you’re welcome. It was my pleasure.”

“You’re very strange,” Eirik muttered,trying to ignore the tight curl in his chest and the dimness of Jens’ smile as they fell into awkward silence. Eirik tried for levity, staring at the spread of long fingers too close to the swell of his thigh, “Though I suppose an idiot like you would give up his free time for anyone with a sad story." 

"Sure, I’d help,” Jens said lowly and Eirik watched the slow slide of those fingers from couch to the edge of his pants, just below the ridge of his knee, “But I wouldn’t do the ice cream and the pizza and the bed time stories for just anyone.” Jens pinned him in place with the sudden intensity of his gaze and the determined set of his jaw, “And I definitely wouldn’t ask just anyone if they’d like to have dinner with me sometime." 

"Why?” Eirik said hesitantly as he pulled his knees together and escaped from the dangerous encroachment of gentle fingers. “You’ll still see Aron every Monday through Friday. Tuesdays can hardly be such a loss.”

“True,” Jens answered and then there were fingers gently cupping his chin and compelling Eirik to acknowledge the invitation that had always been in such blue eyes, “But Monday through Friday doesn’t gain me you." 

For the briefest moment, Eirik sighed and parted his lips to the kiss that Jens’ pressed to the corner of his mouth, wondering how long it had been since he’d touched like he was precious but unbreakable, lulled by the warmth of Jens’ breath and the question in the slow brush of his thumb down Eirk’s throat. It would be easy, Eirik knew, to say yes and soothe the loneliness he sometimes felt when Aron had gone to sleep and he was alone in this house that wasn’t a home. It would be easy enough to let Jens press him into the couch and take pleasure in the weight of his body and the heat of his skin. 

It would even have been nice to indulge in what it felt like to be wanted. 

But easy did not mean simple and in the instant that Jens’ took his kiss away, Eirik remembered the thousand reasons he could no longer make the reckless decisions that any other man of his age could make without a second thought. He opened his eyes and let go of the wish that life could yet be simple and that he could be easy with his affections. 

"So, what do you say?” Jens murmured roughly, hand still splayed over Eirik’s chest, “You, me, and the Little Man in some cozy little booth for three?" 


End file.
